


First Christmas

by Euterpein



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Christmas Feels, First Christmas After Armageddon, Gen, Not Sexy But Romantic, probably blasphemy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:47:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21966634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euterpein/pseuds/Euterpein
Summary: It's the first Christmas of the rest of their lives, and Aziraphale's having a little trouble adjusting. Luckily, Crowley is there to help.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	First Christmas

Crowley parked the Bentley in his usual haphazard fashion, pulling into a “free” spot near the bookshop careless of the fact that it was actually a fire lane. He grabbed the bag of last-minute supplies that Aziraphale had asked him to bring--Christmas crackers, several bottles of spiced red wine, a couple of oranges--as well as the presents he’d wrapped himself that morning. He piled it all precariously under one arm and turned the corner towards the shop.

As he crossed the street and got a good look at the bookshop’s front windows, he frowned. Aziraphale usually put up a rather ostentatious Christmas display. He would put a large tree in one of the front windows, decorated to within an inch of its life with lights, tinsel, and baubles in a variety of colors. He’d have little nods to the many holidays he’d celebrated throughout the years; stars and moons and a little altar for Saturnalia, delicate golden deer for Yule. Usually, the lights went up a week before the day and could be seen halfway down the street. Now, as Crowley approached, it sat almost entirely dark. The familiar tree that rested in the front window was unadorned.

Crowley carefully pushed open the front door, glancing around in case something was amiss. “Angel?” He called. As his eyes finally adjusted to the dark, he spotted Aziraphale. He was standing in a riotous explosion of Christmas decorations and boxes, spilled out over the floor like someone had been madly tearing through them without caring where the contents landed. Some of the ornaments had smashed against the ground, covering the boards with the fine glittery dust of painted porcelain. Among it all Aziraphale stood, stock-still, holding in his hands an angel tree-topper. It was done almost entirely in white porcelain, flowing white robes and arched wings carved in intricate detail. Atop its head was a wrought gold halo. Aziraphale was simply staring at it, caught in a moment of perfect stillness among the chaos around him.

“Angel.” Crowley repeated, carefully setting down the presents and shopping and moving over to where the angel stood. Aziraphale seemed to hear him that time, snapping out of whatever stupor he’d been in a moment ago.

“Crowley!” He said, flustered. “Ah, terribly sorry about that. I seem to have got a bit distracted.” He made to put the angel down into a box at his feet, but Crowley grabbed his wrist and gently took it out of his hands. 

“I got you this.” He muttered. 

“Yes.” Aziraphale acknowledged, looking a bit lost. “Eighteen thirty-two, I believe? Or somewhere in there.”

“Something wrong with it?” Crowley asked. “I could get you a new one if you like, or--”

“No!” Aziraphale interjected, a little too strongly, grabbing the angel back as though Crowley might march it off and put it down the disposal right then like one of his hapless plants. “No, it’s lovely. There’s nothing wrong with it at all. It’s just. Well.” He seemed to be struggling for words, once again gazing down at the porcelain angel like it was text written in a language he just couldn’t read.

“Just what?” Crowley prompted, not quite understanding what what making Aziraphale so upset but getting a sneaking suspicion.

“It’s just that, now the world is saved and we’re still here. On our own side. And this,” he indicated the angel as well as the explosion of decoration detritus littered around them, “just doesn’t... feel  _ right _ anymore, does it?” He looked almost ashamed at the admission.

“You’re still an angel, Aziraphale.” Crowley reminded him, not unkindly. Aziraphale quirked a small smile.

“Yes, but a piss-poor one, I’m afraid.” He sighed, rubbing one hand over his face before turning back to Crowley. “I wouldn’t take any of it back, my dear, don’t worry about that. It’s just my first Christmas after turning away from Heaven. It’s a bit of an adjustment.” Crowley looked at him a moment, then turned and snapped his fingers at the tree. Aziraphale gasped as it lit up, perfectly strung and decorated, immediately bringing a twinkling cheeriness to the dim shop. The porcelain angel was still in Aziraphale’s hands.

Crowley walked over to the tree and ran delicate fingers over one of the golden deer. “Do you know,” he said without looking back at Aziraphale, “that this’ll be my very first Christmas? Or the first one I’ve actually celebrated at least. Thought it would be nice to do it together.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale breathed. “I... I didn’t realize.” Crowley still couldn’t quite make eye contact.

“Thing is,” he said, “that Christmas isn’t really about Heaven when you think about it, right? I mean, passing over the point where most of the traditions were ‘borrowed’ from other holidays, it’s about peace and love and joy an’ all that.  _ Not  _ very Heavenly ideas, in my opinion.” 

One time, they both knew, Aziraphale would have argued with him about that. Today he piped in with a rather weak, “And Jesus, I should think.” Crowley finally turned to look at him, amusement and vulnerability warring in his eyes. 

“Alright, and that a bit. But you and I both know it’s not Jesus’ birthday. I mean, we were  _ there _ . And even if it was, what’s that story about anyway? A poor couple wandering through the streets, desperately looking for shelter, being turned away everywhere they go. Having the savior in a little barn surrounded by sheep and supernatural beings pretending to be wise men. Doing their best. Carrying on.” 

“What are you trying to say, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley sighed.

“What I’m  _ saying  _ is, I bought you that angel because it reminded me of you. On the wall.” Aziraphale looked down at the little porcelain angel. It did resemble him somewhat, now that he thought to look. The flowing robes were of a similar sort to those he had been wearing in Eden, and the one of the wings was tilted as though to offer shelter against an invisible rain. It was less imposing than many angels you saw depicted by humans. More kind. “What I’m saying is, I brought you presents and  _ Christmas crackers  _ of all things because I wanted to come and celebrate with you.”

“Celebrate what?” Aziraphale asked, almost desperately. 

“Celebrate us!” Crowley nearly shouted. He saw Aziraphale’s stricken reaction and visibly forced himself to calm down before continuing. “Celebrate the fact that we’re still here, angel. That we’re here because we chose this. Chose them,” he waved to indicate the people outside and humanity in general, “and that we can make this day into anything we want. Anything.” He closed the last few feet between them, laying a hand on the porcelain angel that Aziraphale was still gripping.

“We were turned away from the places we thought we belonged,” Crowley continued, “and by making our own shelter we saved the world. Isn’t that worth celebrating?”

Aziraphale had stayed silent during this little rant, eyes wide at seeing Crowley so emotional about something like this. When Crowley had finished, Aziraphale turned once again to the porcelain angel held between them. He took a breath and waved one of his hands, causing the angel to appear at the top of the tree. They both stared at it for a moment, considering. Then, Aziraphale waved his hand again. Next to the porcelain angel appeared a little porcelain demon, robes and wings painted coal black, a pure golden apple held out in front by one hand. His other hand grasped that of the angel, which gripped it back tightly. They faced outwards from their perch towards humanity, together. 

Aziraphale smiled softly at his handiwork, then turned back to Crowley. “You must admit, the whole comparison to the nativity was a bit weak as far as metaphors go.” Crowley rolled his eyes and went over to the door to grab his things from where he’d dropped them. 

“We were turned away, we made our own shelter, there was a baby involved. It’s close enough, isn’t it?” 

Together, they took their things upstairs to Aziraphale’s tiny flat. Aziraphale cooked a decent holiday meal for two (with Crowley “helping”) and they ate it around his table, the piles of books pushed aside to make room. They exchanged presents and drank copious amounts of sweet spiced wine, talking and laughing long into the night. It was the first Christmas of the rest of their lives, and they spent it just they way they had always wanted to: together.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this! I've got some complex feelings about Christmas and this kind of got stuck in my head today. Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!


End file.
